Garrido, Antonio - The Scribe

“But it will have to be tomorrow. It’s getting dark, and going down into the mine now would be an open invitation to bandits.”

Theresa cursed those Saxons a thousand times. She hated them with all her being. She remembered again her assailants after she had fled Würzburg, the brutal attack during their voyage on the ship, and how the one person they should have killed—that bastard Hoos Larsson—remained alive. She was surprised when Izam corrected her assumption.

“I don’t think they were Saxons. They were just outlaws. The rabble doesn’t distinguish between the two because they identify pagans with evil, and evil with the Saxons. But the Saxons that are still resisting are hiding out in the north, beyond the Rhine.”

“It doesn’t matter whether they’re bandits or Saxons. They’re all our enemies.”

“Of course, and I fight them with everything I have, but as strange as it may seem, I have never hated the Saxons. They’re only defending their lands, their children, their beliefs. They’re rough, yes. And cruel. But how would you behave if one morning you got out of bed to find an army laying waste to everything you know and love? Those pagans are fighting for what they’ve had since they were born, for a way of life that some foreigners from far off lands have come to take from them. I must admit that on occasions I have admired their valor and aspired to their energy. I even believe they truly hate God, for they often fight like demons. But I can assure you that they are only guilty of having been born in the wrong place and wrong time.”

Theresa looked at him disconcertedly. In her mind, like all humans, the Saxons were children of God. So how could they be guided toward the Truth if they refused to accept it? At any rate, she thought, her anger returning, who in hell cares about the Saxons? Hoos, now he was a real servant of the Devil—the worst kind anyone could meet. The only man who had ever made her feel truly happy was nothing more than a con artist she now hated with such venom that she would gladly tear him apart with her bare hands. She kicked herself for having been so naive, for having wanted to marry him and give her life to an animal like that.

Her anger clouded her senses, making her incapable of distinguishing between rage and cold. She put Hoos out of her mind and laid her head against Izam’s chest. His warmth comforted her. When she asked where they would spend the night, she was surprised to hear him say they would stay in the shack. He didn’t trust anyone in the fortress anymore. The young man covered her with his cloak and took some cheese from his bag. When he offered her some, Theresa refused, but Izam broke off a piece and made her eat it. Her mouth brushed against his fingers.

As the young woman savored the food, Izam regretted not having any more cheese so that he might touch her lips again. He recalled the day they met. He had been attracted by her polite demeanor, her honey-colored eyes, and her messy hair. She was so different from the plump, rosy-cheeked girls that populated Fulda. But later it had been her bold and impetuous character that had captivated him. Curiously, the fact that she could read—something that would unnerve any normal man—fascinated him. He loved the interest with which she listened to him, and in turn he enjoyed listening to her stories about her native Constantinople. And now he was beside her, protecting her amid so many strange events, and not knowing what was real and what was fantasy.

28

When the voices woke Gorgias, it was already nightfall at the mine. He had just enough time to roll to one side and pull the pallet over himself. Pain shot through him as he fell on the stump of his arm. He crouched down and waited in silence, praying to God that the darkness would protect him.

Before long, hidden in the shadows inside the miner’s hut, he listened to the approaching voices until finally he could see two individuals bearing torches. One of them was tall and blond, and the other appeared to be a priest. The strangers separated and began to sniff around the shacks, kicking aside the discarded junk. At one point the blond one came near his hiding place while the other waited at a distance. For a moment Gorgias thought he would be discovered, but in the end the man turned around, signaled to the clergyman, and they each deposited a bundle just a few paces from where he was hiding. Then they turned around and, as quickly as they had arrived, disappeared into the darkness.

Gorgias hid until he was sure they were not coming back. After a while he poked out his head and rested his gaze on the abandoned bundles. Suddenly one of them moved, making Gorgias give a start. He thought it might be some kind of wounded beast, so when the movements stopped, he decided to investigate.

With difficulty he left his hiding place and dragged himself toward the two bundles. He could barely manage to do even this. In the last week his arm had taken a turn for the worse—so much so that he had spent several days lying down without eating a thing. His fever told him that he was dying. If he had been able to find the strength, he would have returned to Würzburg, but for some time he had been breathless from his shivering.

He reached the first bundle and probed it with a stick. Squeezing it, he noted that it yielded and wriggled, and he flinched when it let out its first groan. He kept silent, and immediately heard it again. This time it faltered, making almost a moaning sound. Frightened, he slowly approached and unwrapped the bundle and, stunned, he did the same with the second one. When he had finished, he couldn’t believe his eyes, which were the size of two great plates. Before him, gagged with kitchen cloth, lay Wilfred’s twins.

He quickly undid the ligatures that bound them, lifted up the one that was breathing and nervously slapped the cheeks of the one that he hoped was sleeping. But she gave no reaction. He assumed she was dead, but when he tipped her chin up, the little girl coughed and began to cry, spluttering and asking for her father. Gorgias thought to himself that if those men heard the girls they would come back and kill them all, so he dragged the twins as quickly as he could to one of the tunnels, where he hid and hoped that the stone would muffle their crying. However, once inside, they sank into a strange torpor that made them sleep.

As on the preceding days, Gorgias struggled to get to sleep. Though still consumed by fever, the presence of the girls had given him back a little of the lucidity that he had lacked for so long. He stood and contemplated them. Their faces seemed a little blue, so he woke them up by timidly nudging them. When they were awake, he lifted up the one that was most alert, tidied her curls and sat her down like a rag doll. The little girl teetered a little but managed to keep her balance, even after hitting her head against the corf he had leaned her against. She seemed dazed, for she made no complaint. The other girl was in a stupor. He could barely feel her pulse. He poured a little of the water he kept in the tunnel on her head, but still there was no reaction. He did not know if their condition was the reason for their abandonment, but he knew that if he did not get them to Würzburg soon they would undoubtedly perish.

With the sun coming up, Gorgias decided to take them outside. It felt cold out in the open, auguring a storm. He wondered how he would transport them if he could barely stand himself. Searching the area, he found a wooden chest to which he tied a rope. He knotted this to his belt and then dragged it through the mud to where he had left the twins. Carefully, he placed them inside, explaining that it was a little carriage, but the little girls remained in a daze. He stroked their heads and then pulled on the rope. The chest didn’t budge. He removed the stones that were in its path and then pulled again. The chest slid along heavily behind Gorgias as he set off for Würzburg.